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as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of some |
ruthless villainy. |
I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw |
something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched |
carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to |
find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst |
travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I |
had seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest, |
and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil: that he will |
allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave |
evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own |
letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the local |
people be attributed to me. |
It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut up |
here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law which |
is even a criminal's right and consolation. |
I thought I would watch for the Count's return, and for a long time sat |
doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there were some |
quaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were |
like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered in |
clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense of |
soothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in the |
embrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more |
fully the aërial gambolling. |
Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far |
below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to |
ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to |
the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to |
awake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling, |
and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I |
was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; the |
moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom |
beyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom |
shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my |
senses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which were |
becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the |
three ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt somewhat |
safer in my own room, where there was no moonlight and where the lamp |
was burning brightly. |
When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in the |
Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed; and then |
there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me. With a |
beating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison, and |
could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried. |
As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without--the agonised cry of a |
woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered out between |
the bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her |
hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning |
against a corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window she |
threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace:-- |
"Monster, give me my child!" |
She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the same |
words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and beat her |
breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagant |
emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and, though I could not see |
her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door. |
Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of the |
Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to be |
answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many minutes |
had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated, |
through the wide entrance into the courtyard. |
There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but |
short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips. |
I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and |
she was better dead. |
What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful |
thing of night and gloom and fear? |
* * * * * |
_25 June, morning._--No man knows till he has suffered from the night |
how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the |
sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great |
gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me |
as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as |
if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I must |
take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me. Last |
night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first of that fatal |
series which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the |
earth. |
Let me not think of it. Action! |
It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or |
threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen the |
Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake, that |
he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his room! |
But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me. |
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